Thursday, 29 November 2012

Every year around this time, in the shade of the full moon we keralites ( not all, some) celebrate the festival of Karthika. I cant tell you why we celebrate this particular festival because I do not know why. But every year we embellish our houses with a million a lighted lamps and let it simmer the golden glow of the burning oil flame. I do remember the times mother, me and my brother lighted the whole house up in such fiery splendor. That was only last year by the way. When it was in my ancestral house it was something even more spectacular. The entire family would rush to the top of the house at sun down and start lighting up the lamps one by one till every possible place in the house is basking in its glow.

But this year, it was different. I did not even know that the festival was over until a day past. My mother used to remember it always and I used to be at home always when it happened. But this time she is not here neither am I. I suppose then the family thought nay this time around. There happened the first time that our dear house stood in solemn silence and darkness when the whole neighborhood erupted in the golden glow.

I guess next time its different, may be one more time i would get to enjoy these simple pleasures again.

Thursday, 22 November 2012

To kill someone can never be demeaned as civil, but this statement stands in stark contradiction to what India has done. India has killed someone and yet she has managed to remain morally clean and ideologically pristine. The hanging of Kasab can be considered nothing less than a clean example of the prevailing sense of justice in India. India has showcased to the world its adherence to justice and its ability to provide a fair trial to all alike.

Before we start off on our analysis of what had happened its better we know a little background of the things. The Kasab we talk about here is the lone terrorist who has been captured alive after the 26/11 attack on Mumbai. The one terrorist strike that has made the whole nation stand on its toes for over a couple of days. Such was the magnanimity of the attacks that the nation was never the same again. After four years of intense judicial procedures he was sent to the gallows yesterday, signalling the end of one India's most awaited trials.

The fact that he was send to the gallows is not what matters, any nation would have did the same may be even sooner. But India did something very few of the nations would ever ensure, India did that what can only be provided by a superior nation. India gave its supreme criminal, the one that deserved no mercy a chance to defend himself and plead innocence. India gave Kazab a lawyer and open for him all the avenues of its legal system. India made no haste and spared no expense, it did no mock trials and it made no hasty judgements. It let the case go as any other case of the same would go on this soil. It preserved the interest of the defaulter, treated him as a human and hence ensured that after its all over it shall rise high and mighty.

As a citizen of India, I ma well aware of the feelings of its people, I have at first hand understood and empathised with there anger and angst. They wanted it over fast, they wanted him hanged and were tired of waiting. They were desperate for justice and this is easier to understand. The fact that the nation showed much will power in ensuring that justice shall take its turn is praise worthy especially considering that the other option was for many a reason far more attractive and hassle free. But then again a nation has to stand for its ideals, A nation is not the barb wires that separate it, but it is the ideas , ideals and the morality its determined to uphold.

Sunday, 18 November 2012

I got a call a few minutes ago, it is impossible to call it
a call, all it was a monologue of half a sentence long. A string of words from
him and an uneasy silence on my part, that’s what our conversation was. Can I
call it a conversation I am not sure, but one thing I am sure of is that the
feeling were genuine, even though my response was brutal and highly prejudiced.

Before I divulge what he spoke and what its implications
are, I must tell you who he is and what he meant to me in another era. He is my
cousin that much I am sure you would have guessed and here is more about my
cousin that you would need to know to understand our relationship and its
prejudices. I am willing to write about him only because I know he will never
read it and even my stupid family will never stumble upon this, it will be
buried deep in my archives waiting for an occasional visit and will eventually
be forgotten. I guess when it comes to my cousin my ungratefulness extends to
such a level that I could not even remember his name. May be its true that when
relationships are forgotten through time and when they gets buried for so long
in memory even blood shall lose its flavor.

He is cousin or nephew I know not which, I suppose I never
got hold of their distinctions and I sure am not in a mood to look it up now.
The fact it makes no difference what so ever to anything that I have to say or
what I feel. His name is Vaishak and he is the son of fathers only sister. My
father comes from not a wealthy family and he climbed up the social ladder (so
he claims) on his own through much hard work and perseverance, hence his crude
mannerisms. His love for book is perhaps the only personality trait I inherited
from him or all I want to inherit form him. But nevertheless unlike him his
family was not so lucky, I am not pretty sure whether “lucky” is the right word
to use.

His sister’s marriage though happy is not with someone whose
second nature is to have a rainy day account. This nature of his always left
them at a state of perpetual poverty, never too rich never too poor either,
kind of in the in between. This though in contemporary society is regarded as
unfortunate, this has preserved in them a sense of innocence that is seldom
seen among the corporate animals that roam the concrete jungles. They have
simple taste and even simpler lives, something to envy I guess.

My mother has instilled in me prejudices so coarse that it
took me 21 years of my life to clear the soot and look at it with any clarity
of mind. Such has been the extend of the prejudices that I forgot that my
father actually had a family. It was like things in a fairy tales that are too
good to exist. But I must Say my mother is not a bad person but pride and ego
can do terrible things even to the amiable of angels. Don’t hate my mother I
beg you, she doesn’t deserve that, She was only protecting me from what she had
convinced herself was bad. Nonetheless her actions deprived me from
understanding life as it is in its raw form. Alienating me from people who were
earthly and volatile the same. I had to learn the art of being contended at the
smallest of things on my own, to cherish the wet mud that molds my feet and the
sight of the rare blue butterfly or even the smell of the virgin earth being
touched by the mighty rains hands. But I ended up spending one third of my life
learning these things when I could have readily understood it all, It was all
there just outside.

I still remember the time I had spent with my cousin, the
times we bathed together when we were children in the small open bathroom with
mulberry bush hanging from one side, Splashing water from the little tank that
use to store the water from the well. The little garden with all the beautiful
flowers and the tasty mulberry bushes. The many a wonderful evening spend
playing in the faint stream that ran by the green paddy fields. I still
remember the small aquarium he had, a small one, with so many little fishes in
it. Nothing too fancy, no expensive fishes just the ones he had caught form the
nearby stream. He had even taught me how to catch a fish with nothing but a
plain piece of cloth, Alas! I had forgotten it, I had forgotten it long ago I
suppose along with the sweet memories of that era.

It surprises me how much there is to tell, I never knew the
faded photographs in my father’s old photo album had so much history, so many
memories in it. I never knew that the characters in those pictures had a life
and they were more than their innocent smiles and that they were ones very much
alive. Strange what one phone call, a few minutes of someone’s voice can
accomplish. I don’t want to tell anything, may be another time when I feel I am
much more ready to face the truth of life.

He had called me now to tell me that he is going to Qatar,
in search of a job. I am sure he got a job in there where his other uncle
works, I did not so much are bother to ask what he is doing and what job he
got. I did not tell him anything but I did pray for him, pray that all that is
good shall only befall him and I prayed him Bon Voyage.

Monday, 12 November 2012

I believe every one of us at one time or the other starts
searching for love. Some go through their whole life ignoring their hearts
desire just to search feverishly for what is it that matters on their death
beds. Some others are truly lucky, Love finds them. Love presents itself in
front of them in such lovely ways that it is impossible for anyone to ignore.
Lucky Bastards. But many of us are not that fortunate yet we don’t give up, we
are not undermined, we search for it with all our vigor.

Why do I love the silence of the moon,

The paradisal distance of the dawn,

I believe myself lucky when it comes to love. No, love did
not show itself in front of me and knock on my door but I did not had to search
much to find it an I was luckier still that I knew it when I found it. It
really is true that when true love blossoms its hard to ignore and impossible
to notice. It feels like the whole and everything in it comes to be revolving
around that special someone. What you do and what you think, everything starts
and ends with that someone.

The depth of eve mysteriously withdrawn,

Better than all the roses of late June,

One can always force oneself to love a person but that is
not the true nature of love. At all times such love shall feel empty and its
abysmal absence felt upon mankind? One cam always adjust, analyze and feel
secure in love. Love is inherently volatile, unyielding and never shape. It is
as chaotic as the moments of genesis was and so is it just as tranquil and
serene as the midnight lakes. Love takes no prisoners nor ever call for peace,
yet it is never the war nor the clandestine blood splatter.

The garden's breath, the orchard's golden boon,

The burning brightness of the new-mown lawn,

I had my heart broken not once, not twice nor thrice but
many more a times. It has been bruised and it has been violated beyond healing,
yet my heart could not stop itself from the vindictive search for love. Then
came the absence, the abstinence and the stale doldrums and after all of the
hells ailments came the light and came the peace.

The mossy forest-floor with beech-mast strawn,

And green trees waving in the depth of noon.

It was a smile at first and then a giggle, It was a hello at
first and then serene silence, a touch then its prolonged absence, an emptiness
and then the feeling of universal belonging and then the feeling of
weightlessness sans hunger sans thirst. Like the vagabond clouds in the heaven
his mighty and afterwards the freshness of the virgin earth at the first touch
of the mighty rain.

Night hath her dreams and the lone heart its tears;

Silence and longing weep themselves to rest

Then one day in the autumnal bliss of the solitary morning, in
her lovely poster resembling much mighty artists’ works and in the absence of
time, space and reason I knew, I knew what is it that I held in my heart and
unknowingly sans reason and logic I drew her near and sealed us with a kiss.
Not a long prolonged slobbering of lust but the lightest brushing my trembling
lips on her snow like cheek.

Each on the other's mild and maiden breast;

The seeking spirit sighs, the dim star hears;

Oh Bliss Eternal. This was the moment of great love that had
extended many a millennia, time was not in any hurry and reason had not one bit
of sand to stand upon. This was our moment and our alone and the all the earth
and the heavens above were ours and ours alone. This was my moment of enlightening
and my moment of atonement. The final act of
supreme love and from it came love and love only.

Saturday, 10 November 2012

An insidious sequence of events, twists and turns set beautifully to trap and engage the reader from the start to the very end. Ravi has managed to make sure that the element of surprise and anxiety never settles in the readers mind till the very last and ensured that predictability is abolished entirely. The Bankster is a true mystery in all its completeness and essence that can be set apart from the rest as a resonating example of what a mystery must and should be.

Synopsis :

Bankers build their careers on trust, or so everyone thinks, till a series of murders threaten to destroy the reputation that the Greater Boston Global Bank (GB2) has built over the years. Who is behind these killings, and what is their motive? When Karan Panjabi, press reporter and ex-banker, digs deeper, he realizes that he has stumbled upon a global conspiracy with far reaching ramifications a secret that could not only destroy the bank but also cast a shadow on the entire nation. With only thirty-six hours at his disposal, he must fight the clock and trust no one if he is to stay alive and uncover the truth.

The story ensues from the diamond mines of Angola driven by a covert CIA agent and it passes hands to Vikram Bahl and comes Home to Mumbai where most of it is set. It later wanders off to the Europe pursuing a series of unfortunate yet seemingly unrelated events. The story set amongst the employees in the upper echelons of the Greater Boston Global Bank passes on suspicion as if in a relay race, making it almost impossible for the reader to arrive at a preconceived guess of the mystery man. Something that most mystery writes miss now a days is where Ravi Subramanian scores tons.

The story though extremely realistic has some minor flaws never the less, The story does lack a true protagonist Karan Panjabi, the Banker turned reporter who is supposedly the hero of the tale come way after the middle of the story and almost to the end. His entrance is so feeble and uncared for that no one knows he is the protagonist till he solves the mystery. No character sketch, no intensity of feeling, no nothing of our protagonist is given anywhere. All on a sudden he drops in with a girl and takes charge of the story leaving the readers feeling lost and somewhat deprived. He could have done much good by introducing Karan in the start and channeling the story through him than from various unambiguous sources.

This particular defect extends to all of the characters and is the single most disastrous the writer made with the book. Almost all of his characters are uncharted and lacks depth. The only person whose character has been examined would be Vikram bahl that to as a consequence of certain events and not as part of a dedicated interpretation of the character by the author.

Setting that apart the story is magnificently chartered and beautifully distributed across, Mumbai, Vienna and the Middle-East and a handful of well-placed characters. The highest point for the story is its unpredictability which is well supplemented and supported by Ravi's characters. The Bankster is a recommended read by me and is much more than just a financial thriller, the mystery and action adds flavour to the whole story.